Page 14 of Ella’s Desire

Nan nodded to Bronson. “Who is this you’ve brought into my kitchen?”

“The man Ella has to marry.” Cat winced. “Er, I mean, Ella’s betrothed.” She shot him an apologetic smile.

Something nudged at Bronson’s shins. He glanced down and found the small black cat from the day before. Apparently, the dogs had scared it off until now.

“I see Bixby likes him.” Nan chortled with laughter.

“Why does everyone find that so funny?” Bronson asked warily.

Cat giggled. “Because Bixby loves rats.”

Bronson failed to share their humor. “It’s unfortunate Lady Ella isn’t a rat then, or I might have more ease in locating her.”

“Ach, we’re only jesting, my lord.” Nan smiled good-naturedly at him. “The lady is most likely in the orchard.”

“I checked there already.”

“Perhaps the solar then?” Cat broke off a piece of the roll, blew on the chunk, then popped it into her mouth.

Bronson inclined his head with gratitude. “Come along, Bixby.” But as he made his way to the doorway, the cat remained where he’d stretched out on the floor. Bronson grinned at having been abandoned by the little beast.

Apparently, he was not a rat after all.

“Have you heard from Geordie recently?” Nan asked Cat as if he had already left the room. No doubt not noticing Bixby hadn’t followed him at all.

Cat’s wide smile wilted. “Nay. I suspect he’s terribly busy on campaign to not have written.”

Bronson slipped from the kitchen, giving the ladies their privacy. He found the solar easily. The room appeared empty, but then he spied Ella.

There she was, on a padded bench seat beneath a large glass window. Sunlight streamed in and poured over her. Her back rested against the wall; her legs were propped in front of her with a book settled in her lap. She had a whimsical expression, something far away and dreamy as she read, completely oblivious to his presence.

She bit her lip and her fingers lightly curled over the next page in anticipation to turn it before she’d even finished reading.

“It must be a very good book.” He said it as softly as he could, lest he startle her.

She jumped slightly regardless, and her brow furrowed. “It is.”

“Is it one you and your sisters wrote?” he asked.

“Nay, ’tis Floire et Blancheflor.” Her eyes went to the book once more.

He approached her. “My mother had a fondness for reading.”

“Mmmm…” Ella settled deeper into the cushions. Her bare feet poked out from beneath the fine linen of her pale blue gown.

“My father said books were far too expensive and so he didn’t buy her many.” He glanced around the room at the shelves of books. It was not nearly so many as in a monastery, but there were easily four dozen or so. A veritable fortune. Their leather spines faced out in a colorful array of dyed leather. No doubt some were books the women of Werrick had written.

“I imagine hunting dogs and destriers far surpass the cost of a book.” She turned another page and her attention trailed to the upper left-hand corner of her book. She looked up and shook her head slightly, as though chastising herself. “It sounds like you know what she liked.” Her gentle smile was evidently offered by way of apology.

“Aye, I know everything my mother liked.” Bronson settled against the wall opposite the one Ella leaned against to better see her, to watch her captivating expressions and the way the light played in her glossy hair.

“She liked animals,” he continued. “Cats, especially. We had several in the house and it was riotous when my father would return from court with his hunting dogs.” He laughed at the memory of chairs being overturned and tapestries falling. “Cats running about in every direction, dogs darting about after them.”

Ella chuckled and her eyes slid back to her book.

“I don’t think she ever read Floire et Blancheflor,” Bronson continued. “But her favorite book was Roman de la Rose.”

Ella’s head lifted with interest. “Roman de la Rose?”